Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: FA Cup Round of 16 vs Fulham (2)
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Two strikers had just blown past me.
In front of me now, only midfielders and defenders remained.
"Ban!"
Marc Bernal had drawn in the pressing Basil Rebeqa plenty before passing it my way.
That one pass shook off the forward pressure from both strikers.
Thud.
The first one to press was my marker, Manuel Ugarte.
He timed it perfectly for the moment I received the ball and turned.
It was the kind of pressure that would've robbed most players clean, but for me, it was like he was handing me the ball on a platter—easy to evade with a simple stretch of the leg.
Thanks to that, I could dribble forward freely.
Thwack—
Emile Smith Rowe and another midfielder chased late, but they were already out of reach.
Just one motion to take Marc Bernal's pass, and the path was wide open.
Ahead of me, only two center-backs left. At this rate, even the full-backs on either side wouldn't keep up with my speed.
To stop my advance, one of the center-backs would have to step up—but they hesitated.
All thanks to Lucas Cruijden lurking between them, keeping them on edge.
Fulham's defense dragged their feet, letting me push forward endlessly.
As I closed in a bit more—to where I could've just unleashed a long-range shot—Calvin Bassey had no choice but to halt and block me.
I spotted the gap that created and slotted a through ball forward.
Lucas Cruijden vs. Issa Diop in a one-on-one.
Issa Diop hauled Lucas back, and Fulham's keeper rushed out to clear it.
In the end, Lucas shook him off and got there first.
But the keeper was right in his face—tough spot.
Bang!!—
...
Reeeee!!—
'Whoa... this guy's insane...'
Lucas's choice? Swing for the fences.
The cannonball shot whistled past the keeper's face by a hair and slammed into the net clean.
"Yeager!!!"
As I marveled at his testosterone-fueled beast-mode finishing, Lucas came barreling toward me, yelling my name.
"Gah!!"
He crushed me in a rough bear hug.
"Your passes drive me wild!!!"
"Got it, now let go!!"
Once I wriggled free, I shoved him toward the roaring crowd.
"It's your debut goal. Go celebrate."
"Raaaaagh!!!"
Whoosh—
Lucas sprinted to the home fans and slid on his knees like a champ.
His over-the-top hype had actually calmed me down, but inside, I was thrilled too.
Finally, a goal machine striker had joined the team.
"Goal-specialized striker" sounds weird, but for Man United, it was a massive gift.
A beast of a striker who could overwhelm opponents and crush their momentum.
Truth be told, if I'd dribbled a bit farther, it could've been a perfect chance. Instead, I tossed Lucas a tricky one.
But he raved about my pass like he'd loved the razor-thin margin.
Now, they'd have to account for absurd passes like that to stop me.
"Yeager!! Get over here!!!"
"Ah..."
Still tons to polish, but...
Room to grow? That's a good thing.
——
Tweet!
Pumped from his debut goal, Lucas Cruijden stripped off his jersey in front of the home fans, earning a yellow.
Better than a defender getting one, but with 45 minutes left—and Lucas needing to press up top nonstop—collecting needless cards wasn't smart.
"Lucas, save the shirtless act for the Champs League final."
"Huh...?"
Lucas shot back a shocked look.
Then he nodded seriously and locked in on the pitch.
Match restarted with Fulham's kickoff.
No idea why my words hit him that hard, but game was on— I'd ask later.
As Fulham passed backward, Lucas Cruijden bolted for the ball.
Reeeee!!—
Maybe my words snapped him to it—he was all fire now.
Pressed Emile Smith Rowe on the kickoff pass, forcing it back.
Chased Manuel Ugarte next, pushing a pass to the left-back.
Stuck to Fulham's left-back, Ryan Sessegnon, and forced a throw-in.
Man United fans cheered his hustle.
Yeah, so what if he's raw?
That goal instinct and work rate alone made him starter material.
——
...
Ban Yeager had indeed called it.
Not with total certainty like he does, just a "maybe" hunch.
But it panned out, so no need to spill the details.
One goal down—time to hype harder.
——
Fulham looked rattled after facing the powerhouse Lucas Cruijden.
Talented enough for a 17-year-old debut? Sure. Dominating senior ball right away? Whole different beast.
Man United already had the shocker that was Ban Yeager, but...
Nah, that's why Fulham figured lightning wouldn't strike twice.
No deep scouting reports—he hadn't lit up United youth that way.
Still green on link-up and fine movement, but clueless Fulham had to double down on their lone goal concession: Lucas.
Less heat on me as a result.
Manuel Ugarte stuck close, but that was nothing.
"Harry!!"
Pass came my way—Ugarte body-checked instantly.
I let it roll between his legs, spun, and burst forward.
"Ngh—"
Ball tumbled through his legs too, right in front of me.
Normally, one guy would've charged, two more sealing off breakthroughs.
But Lucas focus left the left flank wide open.
Thud—
Lofted it left and barreled through.
Nearly clean—Basil Rebeqa bumped me, slowed a tad.
Lucas, closest to the ball, dropped to claim it.
"Run!!!"
Eyed Calvin Bassey's spot, signaled Lucas to infiltrate.
No hesitation—he wheeled and sprinted.
Bassey stretched to clear, but I was a hair quicker.
Thwack—
No interference—Lucas took my pass and ripped a shot.
Reeeee!!—
Keeper off his line—easy slot.
Dunno if he clocked it, but great call either way.
25 minutes subbed on—or 25 minutes into his career—brace for Lucas Cruijden.
Regrettably, his last goals of the day.
——
Feeling bummed after a debut brace? Sounds nuts.
Blame Ban Yeager.
His debut and rampage set insane bars—expectations soared for Lucas.
Ban Yeager blatantly prioritized crafting Lucas's hat-trick over shooting himself.
But unaccustomed to this marking, no prep for it—game ended without more.
Final: 2-0
Man United topped Fulham, into FA Cup quarters—but that wasn't the point.
A new '13-born prodigy arrived.
The elusive #9 no money could buy had descended on Man United.
And his post-match interview? Refreshing as his play.